The Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay — Volume 1

SECT. 9 (1786-7-)

COURT DUTIES AT WINDSOR AND KEW.

THE MISCHIEF-MAKING KEEPER OF THE ROBES.

Tuesday, Aug. 15.—This morning we all breakfasted together, and at about twelve o'clock we set off again for Windsor.

Lord Harcourt came into the breakfast room with abundance of civil speeches upon his pleasure in renewing our acquaintance, and the Miss Vernons parted with me like wholly different people from those I met.

As soon as I returned to the queen's Lodge at Windsor, I called upon Mrs. Schwellenberg. I found her still occupied concerning the newspaper business about Mrs. Hastings. She was more than ever irritated against Mr. Fairly for his information, and told me she was sure he must have said it to her on purpose, and that she wished people might hold their tongue: but that she was bent upon having satisfaction, and therefore she had sent for Mrs. Hastings, and informed her of the whole business.

I was not only sorry, but frightened, lest any mischief should arise through misrepresentations and blunders, between Mr. Fairly and Mr. Hastings: however, this imprudent step was taken already, and not to be called back.

She protested she was determined to insist that Mr. Fairly should produce the very paper that had mentioned the queen, which she should show, and have properly noticed.

I, on the other side, instantly resolved to speak myself to Mr. Fairly, to caution him by no means to be led into seeking any such paper, or into keeping such a search awake; for, with the best intentions in the world, I saw him on the point of being made the object of vindictive resentment to Mr. Hastings, or of indignant displeasure to the queen herself,—so wide-spreading is the power of misapprehension over the most innocent conversation.

I saw, however, nothing of Mr. Fairly till tea-time; indeed, except by very rare chance, I never see any of the king's people but at that meeting. Mrs. Schwellenberg was then present, and nothing could I do. Major Price and Mr. Fisher were of the party. Mr. Fairly fortunately had letters to write, and hastily left us, after taking one dish of tea. The moment he was gone Mrs. Schwellenberg said she had forgot to speak to him about the newspaper, and told Major Price to ask him for it. Major Price assented with a bow only, and the matter dropped.

I, however, who best knew the danger of its going any farther, now determined upon speaking to Major Price, and making him contrive to hush it up. Utterly impossible, nevertheless, proved this scheme; Major Price was too great a favourite to be an instant disengaged. I was obliged, therefore, to be quiet.

A TERRACE PARTY.

Wednesday, Aug. 16—Was the birthday of Prince Frederick, Duke of York. The queen sent me in the morning to my dear Mrs. Delany, whom I had but just found a moment to fly to the preceding day, and I was commanded to bring—her, if well enough, just as she was, in her home morning dress, to her majesty. This I did with great delight; and that most venerable of women accepted the invitation with all the alacrity of pleasure she could have felt at fifteen. The queen, in the late excursion, had made many purchases at Woodstock: and she now made some little presents from them to this dear lady.

In the evening, as it was again a birthday, I resolved upon going to the Terrace, as did Mrs. Delany, and with her and Miss Mawer, and Miss Port, I sallied forth. To avoid the high steps leading to the Terrace from the Lodge, we went through a part of the Castle.

The Terrace was much crowded, though so windy we could hardly keep our feet; but I had an agreeable surprise in meeting there with Dr. Warton.[213] He joined Mrs. Delany instantly, and kept with us during the whole walk. He congratulated me upon my appointment, in terms of rapture; his ecstacies are excited so readily, from the excessive warmth of his disposition, and its proneness to admire and wonder, that my new situation was a subject to awaken an enthusiasm the most high-flown.

Presently after we were joined by a goodly priest, fat, jovial, breathing plenty ease, and good living. I soon heard him whisper Mrs. Delany to introduce him to me. It was Dr. Roberts, provost of Eton: I had already seen him at Mrs. Delany's last winter, but no introduction had then passed. He is a distant relation of Mr. Cambridge. His wife was with him, and introduced also.

These also joined us; and in a few minutes more a thin, little, wizen old gentleman, with eyes that scarce seemed to see, and a rather tottering gait, came up to Mrs. Delany, and after talking with her some time, said in a half whisper, “Is that Miss Burney?” and then desired a presentation. It was Mr. Bryant, the mythologist.[214] I was very glad to see him, as he bears a very high character, and lives much in this neighbourhood. He talks a great deal, and with the utmost good humour and ease, casting entirely aside his learning, which I am, nevertheless, assured is that of one of the most eminent scholars of the age.

We had now a very good party, and seated ourselves in a sort of alcove, to be sheltered from the wind; but it was so very violent that it deterred the royal family from walking. They merely came on the Terrace to show themselves to those who were eager to pay their compliments upon the day, and then returned to the Castle.

Dr. Warton insisted upon accompanying me home as far as the iron rails, to see me enter my royal premises. I did not dare invite him in, without previous knowledge whether I had any such privilege; otherwise, with all his parts, and all his experience, I question whether there is one boy in his school at Winchester who would more have delighted in feeling himself under the roof of a sovereign.

A NERVOUS READER.

Aug. 17.—From the time that the queen condescended to desire to place me in immediate attendance upon her own person, I had always secretly concluded she meant me for her English reader; since the real duties of my office would have had a far greater promise of being fulfilled by thousands of others than by myself. This idea had made the prospect of reading to her extremely awful to me: an exhibition, at any rate, is painful to me, but one in which I considered her majesty as a judge, interested for herself in the sentence she should pronounce, and gratified or disappointed according to its tenor—this was an exhibition formidable indeed, and must have been considered as such by anybody in similar circumstances.

Not a book, not a pamphlet, not a newspaper, had I ever seen near the queen, for the first week, without feeling a panic; I always expected to be called upon. She frequently bid me give her the papers; I felt that they would be the worst reading I could have, because full of danger, in matter as well as manner: however, she always read them herself.

To-day, after she was dressed, Mrs. Schwellenberg went to her own room; and the queen, instead of leaving me, as usual, to go to mine, desired me to follow her to her sitting dressing-room. She then employed me in helping her to arrange her work, which is chair covers done in ribbon; and then told me to fetch her a volume of the “Spectator.” I obeyed with perfect tranquillity. She let me stand by her a little while without speaking, and then, suddenly, but very gently, said, “Will you read a paper while I work?”

I was quite “consternated!” I had not then the smallest expectation of such a request. I said nothing, and held the book unopened.

She took it from me, and pointed out the place where I should begin. She is reading them regularly through, for the first time. I had no choice: I was forced to obey; but my voice was less obedient than my will, and it became so husky, and so unmanageable, that nothing more unpleasant could be heard. The paper was a curious one enough—all concerning a Court favourite. I could hardly rejoice when my task was over, from my consciousness how ill it was performed. The queen talked of the paper, but forbore saying anything of any sort about the reader. I am sorry, however, to have done so ill.

MISS BURNEY REPINES AT HER POSITION.

FANNY BURNEY TO MRS. PHILIPS.

August 20.

... O my beloved Susan, 'tis a refractory heart I have to deal with!—it struggles so hard to be sad—and silent—and fly from you entirely, since it cannot fly entirely to you. I do all I can to conquer it, to content it, to give it a taste and enjoyment for what is still attainable: but at times I cannot manage it, and it seems absolutely indispensable to my peace to occupy myself in anything rather than in writing to the person most dear to me upon earth!... If to you alone I show myself in these dark colours, can you blame the plan that I have intentionally been forming, namely, to wean myself from myself—to lessen all my affections—to curb all my wishes—to deaden all my sensations? This design, my Susan, I formed so long ago as the first day my dear father accepted my offered appointment: I thought that what demanded a complete new system of life, required, if attainable, a new set of feelings for all enjoyment of new prospects, and for lessening regrets at what were quitted, or lost. Such being my primitive idea, merely from my grief of separation, imagine but how it was strengthened and confirmed when the interior of my position became known to me!—when I saw myself expected by Mrs. Schwellenberg, not to be her colleague, but her dependent deputy! not to be her visitor at my own option, but her companion, her humble companion, at her own command! This has given so new a character to the place I had accepted under such different auspices, that nothing but my horror of disappointing, perhaps displeasing, my dearest father, has deterred me from the moment that I made this mortifying discovery, from soliciting his leave to resign.

But oh my Susan,—kind, good, indulgent as he is to me, I have not the heart so cruelly to thwart his hopes—his views—his happiness, in the honours he conceived awaiting my so unsolicited appointment. The queen, too, is all sweetness, encouragement, and gracious goodness to me, and I cannot endure to complain to her of her old servant. You see, then, my situation; here I must remain!—The die is cast, and that struggle is no more.—To keep off every other, to support the loss of the dearest friends, and best society, and bear, in exchange, the tyranny, the exigeance, the ennui, and attempted indignities of their greatest contrast,—this must be my constant endeavour.

Amongst my sources of unhappiness in this extraordinary case is, the very favour that, in any other, might counteract it—namely, that of the queen: for while, in a manner the most attractive, she seems inviting my confidence, and deigning to wish my happiness, she redoubles my conflicts never to shock her with murmurs against one who, however to me noxious and persecuting, is to her a faithful and truly devoted old servant. This will prevent my ever having my distress and disturbance redressed; for they can never be disclosed. Could I have, as my dear father conceived, all the time to myself, my friends, my leisure, or my own occupations, that is not devoted to my official duties, how different would be my feelings, how far more easily accommodated to my privations and sacrifices! Little does the queen know the slavery I must either resist or endure. And so frightful is hostility, that I know not which part is hardest to perform.

MADAME DE GENLIs DISCUSSED.

Windsor, Monday Evening.—Madame de la Fite, who calls upon me daily, though I am commonly so much engaged I can scarce speak to her for a moment, came to desire I would let her bring me M. Argant,[215] who was come to Windsor to show some experiment to the king.

Madame de la Fite has long pressed me with great earnestness to write to Madame de Genlis, whose very elegant little note to me I never have answered. Alas! what can I do? I think of her as of one of the first among women—I see her full of talents and of charms—I am willing to believe her good, virtuous, and dignified;—yet, with all this, the cry against her is so violent and so universal, and my belief in her innocence is wholly unsupported by proof in its favour, or any other argument than internal conviction, from what I observed of her conduct and manners and conversation when I saw her in London, that I know not how to risk a correspondence with her, till better able to satisfy others, as well as I am satisfied myself: most especially, I dare not enter into such an intercourse through Madame de la Fite, whose indiscreet zeal for us both would lead her to tell her successful mediation to everybody she could make hear her. Already she has greatly distressed me upon this subject. Not content with continual importunity to me to write, ever since my arrival, which I have evaded as gently as possible, to avoid giving her my humiliating reasons, she has now written Madame de Genlis word that I am here, belonging to the same royal household as herself; and then came to tell me, that as we were now so closely connected, she proposed our writing jointly, in the same letter.

All this, with infinite difficulty, I passed over,—pleading my little time; which indeed she sees is true. But when M. Argant was here, she said to me, in French, “M. Argant will immediately wait upon Madame de Genlis, for he is going to Paris; he will tell her he saw us together, and he will carry her a letter' from me; and surely Miss Burney will not refuse M. Argant the happiness of carrying two lines from one lady so celebrated to another?” I was quite vexed; a few lines answer the same purpose as a few sheets; since, once her correspondent, all that I am hesitating about is as completely over, right or wrong, as if I wrote to her weekly.

As soon as they left me, I hastened to my dear Mrs. Delany, to consult with her what to do. “By all means,” cried she, “tell the affair of your difficulties whether to write to her or not, to the queen: it will unavoidably spread, if you enter into such a correspondence, and the properest step you can take, the safest and the happiest, is to have her opinion, and be guided by it. Madame de Genlis is so public a character, you can hardly correspond with her in private, and it would be better the queen should hear of such an intercourse from yourself than from any other.”

I entirely agreed in the wisdom of her advice, though I very much doubted my power to exert sufficient courage to speak, unasked, upon any affair of my own. You may be sure I resolved to spare poor Madame de la Fite, in my application, if I made it: “to write, or not to write,” was all I wanted to determine; for the rest, I must run any risk rather than complain of a friend who always means well....

An opportunity offered the next morning, for the queen again commanded me to follow her into her saloon; and there she was so gentle, and so gracious, that I ventured to speak of Madame de Genlis.

It was very fearfully that I took this liberty. I dreaded lest she should imagine I meant to put myself under her direction, as if presuming she would be pleased to direct me. Something, I told her, I had to say, by the advice of Mrs. Delany, which I begged her permission to communicate. She assented in silence, but with a look of the utmost softness, and yet mixed with strong surprise. I felt my voice faltering, and I was with difficulty able to go on,—so new to me was it to beg to be heard, who, hitherto, have always been begged to speak. There is no absolutely accounting for the forcible emotions which every totally new situation and new effort will excite in a mind enfeebled, like mine, by a long succession of struggling agitations. I got behind her chair, that she might not see a distress she might wonder at: for it was not this application itself that affected me; it was the novelty of my own situation, the new power I was calling forth over my proceedings, and the—O my Susan!—the all that I was changing from—relinquishing-of the past—and hazarding for the future!

With many pauses, and continual hesitation, I then told her that I had been earnestly pressed by Madame de Genlis to correspond with her; that I admired her with all my heart, and, with all my heart, believed all good of her; but that, nevertheless, my personal knowledge of her was too slight to make me wish so intimate an intercourse, which I had carefully shunned upon all occasions but those where my affection as well as my admiration had been interested; though I felt such a request from such a woman as Madame de Genlis as an honour, and therefore not to be declined without some reason stronger than my own general reluctance to proposals of that sort; and I found her unhappily, and I really and sincerely believed undeservedly, encircled with such powerful enemies, and accused with so much confidence of having voluntarily provoked them, that I could not, even in my own mind, settle if it were right to connect myself with her so closely, till I could procure information more positive in her favour, in order to answer the attacks of those who asperse her,[216] and who would highly blame me for entering into a correspondence with a character not more unquestionably known to me. I had been desirous to wait, suspended, till this fuller knowledge might be brought about; but I was now solicited into a decision, by M. Argant, who was immediately going to her, and who must either take her a letter from me or show her, by taking none, that I was bent upon refusing her request.

The queen heard me with the greatest attention, and then said, “Have you yet writ to her?”

No, I said; I had had a little letter from her, but I received it just as the Duchess of Portland died, when my whole mind was so much occupied by Mrs. Delany, that I could not answer it.

“I will speak to you then,” cried she, “very honestly; if you have not yet writ, I think it better you should not write. If you had begun, it would be best to go on; but as you have not, it will be the safest way to let it alone. You may easily say, without giving her any offence, that you are now too much engaged to find time for entering into any new correspondence.”

I thanked her for this open advice as well as I was able, and I felt the honour its reliance upon my prudence did me, as well as the kindness of permitting such an excuse to be made.

The queen talked on, then, of Madame de Genlis with the utmost frankness; she admired her as much as I had done myself, but had been so assaulted with tales to her disadvantage, that she thought it unsafe and indiscreet to form any connection with her. Against her own judgment, she had herself been almost tormented into granting her a private audience, from the imprudent vehemence of one of Madame de G.'s friends here, with whom she felt herself but little pleased for what she had done, and who, I plainly saw, from that unfortunate injudiciousness, would lose all power of exerting any influence in future. Having thus unreservedly explained herself, she finished the subject, and has never started it since. But she looked the whole time with a marked approbation of my applying to her.

Poor Madame de Genlis! how I grieve at the cloud which hovers over so much merit, too bright to be hid but not to be obscured.

A DISTINGUISHED ASTRONOMER.

In the evening Mr. Herschel[217] came to tea. I had once seen that very extraordinary man at Mrs. de Luc's, but was happy to see him again, for he has not more fame to awaken curiosity, than sense and modesty to gratify it. He is perfectly unassuming, yet openly happy; and happy in the success of those studies which would render a mind less excellently formed presumptuous and arrogant. The king has not a happier subject than this man, who owes wholly to his majesty that he is not wretched: for such was his eagerness to quit all other pursuits to follow astronomy solely, that he was in danger of ruin, when his talents, and great and uncommon genius, attracted the king's patronage. He has now not only his pension, which gives him the felicity of devoting all his time to his darling study, but he is indulged in licence from the king to make a telescope according to his new ideas and discoveries, that is to have no cost spared in its construction, and is wholly to be paid for by his majesty.

This seems to have made him happier even than the pension, as it enables him to put in execution all his wonderful projects, from which his expectations of future discoveries are so sanguine as to make his present existence a state of almost perfect enjoyment. Mr. Locke himself would be quite charmed with him. He seems a man without a wish that has its object in the terrestrial globe.

At night, Mr. Herschel, by the king's command, came to exhibit to his majesty and the royal family the new comet lately discovered by his sister, Miss Herschel; and while I was playing at piquet with Mrs. Schwellenberg, the Princess Augusta came into the room, and asked her if she chose to go into the garden and look at it. She declined the offer, and the princess then made it to me. I was glad to accept it, for all sorts of reasons.

We found him at his telescope, and I mounted some steps to look through it. The comet was very small, and had nothing grand or striking in its appearance; but it is the first lady's comet, and I was very desirous to see it. Mr. Herschel then showed me some of his new-discovered universes, with all the good humour with which he would have taken the same trouble for a brother or a sister-astronomer: there is no possibility of admiring his genius more than his gentleness.

EFFUSIVE MADAME DE LA ROCHE.

I come now to introduce to you, with a new character, some new perplexities from my situation. Madame de la Fite called the next morning, to tell me she must take no denial to forming me a new acquaintance—Madame de la Roche, a German by birth, but married to a Frenchman;—an authoress, a woman of talents and distinction, a character highly celebrated, and unjustly suffering from an adherence to the Protestant religion.[218]

“She dies with eagerness to see you,” she added, in French, “and I have invited her to Windsor, where I have told her I have no other feast prepared for her but to show her Dr. Herschel and Miss Burney.”

I leave you to imagine if I felt competent to fulfil such a promise: openly, on the contrary, I assured her I was quite unequal to it. She had already, she said, written to Madame de la Roche, to come the next day, and if I would not meet her she must be covered with disgrace. Expostulation was now vain; I could only say that to answer for myself was quite, out of my own power.

“And why?—and wherefore?—and what for?—and surely to me!—and surely for Madame de la Roche!—une femme d'esprit—mon amie—l'amie de Madame de Genlis,” etc., etc., filled up a hurried conference in the midst of my dressing for the queen, till a summons interrupted her, and forced me, half dressed, and all too late, to run away from her, with an extorted promise to wait upon her if I possibly could.

Accordingly I went, and arrived before Madame de la Roche. Poor Madame de la Fite received me in transport; and I soon witnessed another transport, at least equal, to Madame de la Roche, which happily was returned with the same warmth; and it was not till after a thousand embraces, and the most ardent professions—“Ma digne amie!—est il possible?—te vois-je?” etc.—that I discovered they had never before met in their lives!—they had corresponded, but, no more![219]

This somewhat lessened my surprise, however, when my turn arrived; for no sooner was I named than all the embrassades were transferred to me—“La digne Miss Borni!—l'auteur de Cecile?—d'Evelina?—non, ce n'est pas possible!-suis-je si heureuse!—oui, je le vois a ses yeux!—Ah! que de bonheur!” etc....

Madame de la Roche, had I met her in any other way, might have pleased me in no common degree; for could I have conceived her character to be unaffected, her manners have a softness that would render her excessively engaging. She is now bien passee—no doubt fifty—yet has a voice of touching sweetness, eyes of dove-like gentleness, looks supplicating for favour, and an air and demeanour the most tenderly caressing. I can suppose she has thought herself all her life the model of the favourite heroine of her own favourite romance, and I can readily believe that she has had attractions in her youth nothing short of fascinating. Had I not been present, and so deeply engaged in this interview, I had certainly been caught by her myself; for in her presence I constantly felt myself forgiving and excusing what in her absence I as constantly found past defence or apology.

Poor Madame de la Fite has no chance in her presence for though their singular enthusiasm upon “the people of the literature,” as Pacchierotti called them, is equal, Madame de la Fite almost subdues by her vehemence, while Madame de la Roche almost melts by her softness. Yet I fairly believe they are both very good women, and both believe themselves sincere.

I returned still time enough to find Mrs. Schwellenberg with her tea-party; and she was very desirous to hear something of Madame de la Roche. I was led by this to give a short account of her: not such a one as you have heard, because I kept it quite independent of all reference to poor Madame de la Fite; but there was still enough to make a little narration. Madame de la Roche had told me that she had been only three days in England, and had yet made but a beginning of seeing les spectacles and les gens celebres;—and what do you think was the first, and, as yet, sole spectacle to which she had been carried?—Bedlam!—And who the first, and, as yet, only homme celebre she had seen—Lord George Gordon!—whom she called le fameux George Gordon, and with whom she had dined, in company with Count Cagliostro.

Sunday, Sept. 17—At the chapel this morning, Madame de la Fite placed Madame de la Roche between herself and me, and proposed bringing her to the Lodge, “to return my visit.” This being precisely what I had tried to avoid, and to avoid without shocking Madame de la Fite, by meeting her correspondent at her own house, I was much chagrined at such a proposal, but had no means to decline it, as it was made across Madame de la Roche herself.

Accordingly, at about two o'clock, when I came from the queen, I found them both in full possession of my room, and Madame de la Fite occupied in examining my books. The thing thus being done, and the risk of consequences inevitable, I had only to receive them with as little display of disapprobation of their measures as I could help; but one of the most curious scenes followed I have ever yet been engaged in or witnessed.

As soon as we were seated, Madame de la Fite began with assuring me, aloud, of the “conquest” I had made of Madaine de la Roche, and appealed to that lady for the truth of what she said. Madame de la Roche answered her by rising, and throwing her arms about me, and kissing my cheeks from side to side repeatedly.

Madame de la Fite, as soon as this was over, and we had resumed our seats, opened the next subject, by saying Madame de la Roche had read and adored “Cecilia:” again appealing to her for confirmation of her assertion.

“O, oui, oui!” cried her friend, “mais la vraie Cecile, est Miss Borni! charmante Miss Borni! digne, douce, et aimable—com to me arms! que je vous embrasse millefois!”

Again we were all deranged, and again the same ceremony being performed, we all sat ourselves down. “Cecilia” was then talked over throughout, in defiance of every obstacle I could put in its way. After this, Madame de la Fite said, in French, that Madame de la Roche had had the most extraordinary life and adventures that had fallen to anybody's lot; and finished with saying, “Eh! ma chere amie, contez-nous un peu.”

They were so connected, she answered, in their early part with M. Wieland, the famous author, that they would not be intelligible without his story.

Madame de la Roche, looking down upon her fan, began then the recital. She related their first interview, the gradations of their mutual attachment, his extraordinary talents, his literary fame and name; the breach of their union from motives of prudence in their friends; his change of character from piety to voluptuousness, in consoling himself for her loss with an actress; his various adventures, and various transformations from good to bad, in life and conduct; her own marriage with M. de la Roche, their subsequent meeting when she was mother of three children, and all the attendant circumstances.

This narrative was told in so touching and pathetic a manner, and interspersed with so many sentiments of tenderness and of heroism, that I could scarcely believe I was not actually listening to a Clelia, or a Cassandra, recounting the stories of her youth.[220]

When she had done, and I had thanked her, Madame de la Fite demanded of me what I thought of her, and if she was not delightful? I assented, and Madame de la Roche then, rising, and fixing her eyes, filled with tears, in my face, while she held both my hands, in the most melting accents, exclaimed, “Miss Borni! la plus chere, la plus digne des Angloises! dites-moi-m'aimez-vous!”

I answered as well as I could, but what I said was not very positive. Madame de la Fite came up to us, and desired we might make a trio of friendship, which should bind us to one another for life. And then they both embraced me, and both wept for joyful fondness! I fear I seemed very hard-hearted; but no spring was opened whence one tear of mine could flow.

A DINNER DIFFICULTY.

The clock had struck four some time, and Madame de la Fite said she feared they kept me from dinner. I knew it must soon be ready, and therefore made but a slight negative. She then, with an anxious look at her watch, said she feared she was already too late for her own little dinner. I was shocked at a hint I had no power to notice, and heard it in silence—silence unrepressing! for she presently added, “You dine alone, don't you?”

“Y-e-s,—if Mrs. Schwellenberg is not well enough to come down stairs to dinner.”

“And can you dine, ma chere mademoiselle—can you dine at that great table alone?”

“I must!—the table is not mine.”

“Yes, in Mrs. Schwellenberg's absence it is.”

“It has never been made over to me, and I take no power that is not given to me.”

“But the queen, my dearest ma'am—the queen, if she knew such a person as Madame de la Roche was here.”

She stopped, and I was quite disconcerted. An attack so explicit, and in presence of Madame de la Roche, was beyond all my expectations. She then went to the window, and exclaimed, “It rains!—Mon Dieu! que ferons-nous?—My poor littel dinner!—it will be all spoilt!—La pauvre Madame de la Roche! une telle femme!”

I was now really distressed, and wished much to invite them both to stay; but I was totally helpless; and could only look, as I felt, in the utmost embarrassment.

The rain continued. Madame de la Roche could understand but imperfectly what passed, and waited its result with an air of smiling patience. I endeavoured to talk of other things—-but Madame de la Fite was restless in returning to this charge. She had several times given me very open hints of her desire to dine at Mrs. Schwellenberg's table; but I had hitherto appeared not to comprehend them: she was now determined to come home to the point; and the more I saw her determination, the less liable I became to being overpowered by it. At length John came to announce dinner.

Madame de la Fite looked at me in a most expressive manner, as she rose and walked towards the window, exclaiming that the rain would not cease; and Madame de la Roche cast upon me a most tender smile, while she lamented that some accident must have prevented her carriage from coming for her. I felt excessively ashamed, and could only beg them not to be in haste, faithfully assuring them I was by no means disposed for eating.

Poor Madame de la Fite now lost all command of herself, and desiring to speak to me in my own room, said, pretty explicitly, that certainly I might keep anybody to dinner, at so great a table, and all alone, if I wished it.

I was obliged to be equally frank. I acknowledged that I had reason to believe I might have had that power, from the custom of my predecessor, Mrs. Haggerdorn, upon my first succeeding to her; but that I was then too uncertain of any of my privileges to assume a single one of them unauthorised by the queen. Madame de la Fite was not at all satisfied, and significantly said,

“But you have sometimes Miss Planta?”

“And M. de Luc, too,—he may dine with you

“He also comes to Mrs. Schwellenberg. Mrs. Delany alone, and her niece, come to me; and they have had the sanction of the queen's own desire.”

“Mais, enfin, ma chere Miss Burney,—when it rains,—and when it is so late,—and when it is for such a woman as Madame de la Roche!”

So hard pressed, I was quite shocked to resist her; but I assured her that when my own sisters, Phillips and Francis, came to Windsor purposely to see me, they had never dined at the Lodge but by the express invitation of Mrs. Schwellenberg; and that when my father himself was here, I had not ventured to ask him. This, though it surprised, somewhat appeased her; and we were called into the other room to Miss Planta, who was to dine with me, and who, unluckily, said the dinner would be quite cold.

They begged us both to go, and leave them till the rain was over, or till Madame de la Roche's carriage arrived. I could not bear to do this, but entreated Miss Planta, who was in haste, to go and dine by herself. This, at last, was agreed to, and I tried once again to enter into discourse upon other matters. But how greatly did my disturbance at all this urgency increase, when Madame de la Fite said she was so hungry she must beg a bit of bread and a glass of water!

I was now, indeed, upon the point of giving way; but when I considered, while I hesitated, what must follow—my own necessary apology, which would involve Madame de la Fite in much blame, or my own concealing silence, which would reverse all my plans of openness with the queen, and acquiesced with my own situation—I grew firm again, and having assured her a thousand times of my concern for my little power, I went into the next room: but I sent her the roll and water by John; I was too much ashamed to carry them.

When I returned to them again, Madame de la Fite requested me to go at once to the queen, and tell her the case. Ah, poor Madame de la Fite, to see so little a way for herself, and to suppose me also so every way short-sighted! I informed her that I never entered the presence of the queen unsummoned....

Again she desired to speak to me in my own room; and then she told me that Madame de la Roche had a most earnest wish, to see all the royal family; she hoped, therefore, the queen would go to early prayers at the chapel, where, at least she might be beheld: but she gave me sundry hints, not to be misunderstood, that she thought I might so represent the merits of Madame de la Roche as to induce the honour of a private audience.

I could give her no hope of this, as I had none to give for I well knew that the queen has a settled aversion to almost all novels, and something very near it to almost all novel-writers.

She then told me she had herself requested an interview for her with the princess royal, and had told her that if it was too much to grant it in the royal apartments, at least it might take place in Miss Burney's room! Her royal highness coldly answered that she saw nobody without the queen's commands....

In the end, the carriage of Madame de la Roche arrived, about tea-time, and Madame de la Fite finished with making me promise to relate my difficulties to the queen, that she might give me such orders as to enable me to keep them any other time. To give you the result at once, Miss Planta, of her own accord, briefly related the affair to the queen, dwelling upon my extreme embarrassment, with the most good-natured applause of its motives. The queen graciously joined in commendation of my steadiness, expressed her disapprobation of the indelicacy of poor Madame de la Fite, and added that if I had been overcome, it would have been an encouragement to her to bring foreigners for ever to the Lodge, wholly contrary to the pleasure of the king.

AN ECCENTRIC LADY.

Sept. 25.—Mrs. Delany came to me to dinner, and we promised ourselves the whole afternoon tete-a-tete, with no other interruption than what we were well contented to allow to Major Price and General Bude. But before we were well settled in my room, after our late dinner in the next, a visitor appeared,—Miss Finch.

We were both sadly vexed at this disappointment; but you will wonder to hear that I became, in a few minutes, as averse to her going as I had been to her coming: for the Princess Amelia was brought in, by Mrs. Cheveley, to carry away Mrs. Delany to the queen. I had now, therefore, no one, but this chance-comer, to assist me in doing the honours to my two beaus; and well as I like their company, I by no means enjoyed the prospect of receiving them alone: not, I protest, and am sure, from any prudery, but simply from thinking that a single female, in a party, either large or small, of men, unless very much used to the world, appears to be in a situation awkward and unbecoming.

I was quite concerned, therefore, to hear from Miss Finch that she meant but a short visit, for some reasons belonging to her carriage; and when she rose to go, I felt my distaste to this new mode of proceeding so strong, that I hastily related to her my embarrassment, and frankly begged her to stay and help to recreate my guests. She was very much diverted with this distress, which she declared she could not comprehend, but frankly agreed to remain with me; and promised, at my earnest desire, not to publish what I had confessed to her, lest I should gain, around Windsor, the character of a prude.

I had every reason to be glad that I detained her, for she not only made my meeting with the equerries easy and pleasant, but was full of odd entertainment herself. She has a large portion of whimsical humour, which, at times, is original and amusing, though always eccentric, and frequently, from uttering whatever comes uppermost, accidental.

Among many other flights, she very solemnly declared that she could never keep any body's face in her mind when they were out of her sight. “I have quite forgot,” cried she, “the Duke of York already, though I used to see him so continually. Really, it's quite terrible, but I cannot recollect a single trait of anybody when they are the shortest time out of my sight; especially if they are dead;—it's quite shocking, but really I can never remember the face of a person the least in the world when once they are dead!”

The major, who knows her very well, and who first had introduced her to me on my settling here, was much amused with her rattle; and General Bude is always pleased with anything bordering upon the ridiculous. Our evening therefore turned out very well.